


Bring Your Collar, Bitch

by Morgana



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: BDSM, Blow Job, Humiliation, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel has some reparations to make for a mistake he's made</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Your Collar, Bitch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hotfortwins](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hotfortwins).



His shoes were coated with slime, but that was nothing compared to the rest of him. Angel tossed his axe onto the floor over by the weapons cabinet, then headed for his office. There was no sign of Cordelia, which probably meant she'd taken the rest of the day off, but would almost certainly put it in as a full day on her paycheck. Muttering under his breath about demons that spit slime and assistants he couldn't eat, he was already looking forward to a long, hot shower when he caught sight of a note taped to his office door. Probably Cordy's excuse for leaving, but he checked it anyways.

It was a phone message slip, filled out in Cordelia's rounded handwriting: _7pm, downtown Marriott, room 813. BYCB_. On the next line, she'd written _What the hell does that mean? You'd better not be off getting happies and risking Angelus coming out, mister!_

He was going to have some explaining to do on Monday, but right now, he couldn't be bothered to care. A glance at his watch told him he had less than an hour to make the deadline that had been set for him, especially if he ended up having to fight downtown traffic to get there. Forgetting his aching back and slime-covered clothing, the vampire hurried upstairs to shower and change.

Fifteen minutes later, he ran downstairs and grabbed his car keys. He could be thankful for once that Cordelia had a habit of leaving early, because there was no way she wouldn't have pitched a fit if she'd seen him. A pair of leather pants hugged his legs and hips, and combined with a deep red satin shirt, he was virtually indistinguishable from his unsouled counterpart. It was the way he always dressed for these meetings, but he doubted Cordy would bother to listen to that before she lunged for the nearest cross.

Shoving the thought of his friend's reaction to the back of his mind, Angel headed out to his car, hoping that maybe just once the traffic would cooperate. It didn't, of course, and he was almost fifteen minutes late by the time he pulled into the underground garage at the Marriott. Switching the ignition off, he leaned over to grab the small black bag he'd taken to carrying with him, snatching it up and hurrying towards the hotel entrance. The elevator ride seemed to last forever, and when he finally knocked on the door of room 813, he almost expected to find it empty.

Instead, it was yanked open and he stared right into a pair of stormy blue eyes. Caught by their beauty, he let himself get lost in them, gaping like a tongue-tied idiot until a hard slap snapped his head to the side and broke the connection. “You're late,” his lover informed him. “I gave you plenty of notice and you _still_ show up late! And then on top of all that you think you can stand there and just look at me?”

“No, Sir,” he replied quickly, dropping his eyes to the floor. The polished shoes moved aside and he slipped into the room, shivering a little as the door closed behind him with a quiet click that sounded to his ears like the clang of a cell door swinging shut.

A shove from behind made him drop the bag as he stumbled forward. “Where is it?”

“I-” He drew a quick breath when a fist smashed into his kidneys, effectively cutting off his explanation.

“I didn't ask you to talk, did I?” Another hard push sent him to his knees. “I thought I told you to bring your collar, bitch! Now, I've gotta ask myself... are you trying to get yourself punished tonight, or do you just not care enough to bother obeying me?” A southern twang was beginning to surface in his words, and that was never a good thing. “Maybe you don't wanna bother meetin' up anymore, is that it?”

“No!” Angel's eyes shot up, wide and slightly panicked at the thought of no more nights like these. It could happen, too. He'd already been shown once that he was superfluous, forced to sit and watch his Master toy with another, just to prove that it could be done. He wasn't about to risk having it happen again. “No, please, Sir. I- I brought it, in the-”

“Bag?” One foot kicked the shapeless black leather disdainfully. “This is how you treat my collar? Shove it in here and hide it?!”

God, this was just going from bad to worse. “No! No, I- you said-” He took a deep breath and tried again. “You said to keep it safe.”

“That's right, I did say that, didn't I?” A hint of sardonic amusement softened a little of the drawl, but the dark eyebrow that arched above one eye told him he'd probably said the exact wrong thing again. “And here I thought the safest place for it was right around your neck _where it fucking belongs!_”

The back of one hand slammed into his cheek, splitting his skin open over his cheekbone as the heavy class ring his Master wore cut into him. Caught off-guard, Angel cried out, “Please!”

“Please what, bitch?” he snarled. “Please give you what we both know you deserve? Because I know you sure as hell didn't just ask me to please show you any mercy, now, did you?”

He was shaking his head frantically at the very idea of mercy, the hard look he received enough to tear the last of his barriers down. “No, no mercy. I didn't mean- I was just-”

“Shut up.” A hand grabbed his hair and he was yanked up into a full kneeling position. “Since you seem to have forgotten the proper way to greet me, I'll just have to show you again, won't I?” His Master angrily yanked his belt open and unfastened his pants, then reached in to pull his cock out.

Angel's mouth watered at the sight, but he held himself back, glancing up into the cold eyes for permission. Tonight there was to be no leniency, however, because a hard voice bit out, “Well, what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?” He barely had a chance to open his mouth before his head was shoved down and the thick shaft was thrust between his lips.

He couldn't move, couldn't suck or tease the way he usually did, not when he was held like this. All he could do was kneel there and take it. “Yeah, that's it,” his Master grunted, shoving forward until he was nearly into Angel's throat. “Only thing that whore's mouth of yours is good for, isn't it? C'mon, bitch, suck it!”

The words lodged in his gut, creating a burning pit of need that slid down to his dick and made him moan around the cock in his mouth. Angel slid his hands behind his back, opened his mouth wider, and groaned at the brutal invasion. His Master let go of his hair, put hands on either side of his head, and began to fuck his mouth in earnest. “Fuck, yeah, gonna come right down my little bitch's throat,” he ground out. “Yeah, right there, yeah, yeah, shit, yeah!”

A shot of come slid down the back of his throat before his Master pulled back enough to let him taste the rest. He was always supposed to taste, to savor and appreciate the come he was given like a fine wine, and as his Master humped his mouth with short thrusts in the last throes of his orgasm, Angel rolled the heavy fluid on his tongue, moaning his thanks softly before the cock slid out of his mouth. “I was kinder than you deserved,” a slightly slurred voice told him. “Should've pulled out and shot on your face, marked you like the whore you are. But you'd have liked that, wouldn't you?”

He bowed his head, only to have it jerked back with a savage yank as the fingers fastened in his hair again. “Don't ignore me, bitch! I asked you a question, and I expect an answer! You would've loved wearing my come, showing the whole world what a little whore you are, wouldn't you?” Another yank and he winced. “WOULDN'T YOU?!?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, Master, please!” He really didn't know what he was begging for, if he wanted the degradation his Master promised or not, too caught up in the promise of pleasure that had been building since the first blow.

“Strip,” his Master commanded, shoving him back until he nearly toppled over.  Angel hurried to obey, fingers flying over the buttons of his shirt, shivering as satin slid over skin to lie on the floor. The pants were more difficult, the skin tight leather clinging to his legs until he had to sit down to peel them off. Once they were lying on top of the shirt and he was completely naked, he knelt up again in the position he'd taught his own boy to use all those years ago: legs slightly spread, hands folded behind his back, head high and eyes downcast, the perfect picture of eager submission.

The silence that descended made him achingly aware of the soft shush of elegant shoes on Berber carpeting as his Master circled him slowly. The faint spicy scent of cologne drifted from the open shirt collar, bringing with it memories of being allowed to spend the night when he'd done well, of burrowing into his lover's neck and breathing him in, basking in the scent of expensive cologne and pure sexual male before he drifted off to sleep wrapped in the finest linens. There had been fur-lined handcuffs and silk scarves that night, along with warm blood and chocolate to dazzle his senses, and a warm, approving voice that coaxed him ever higher until he was finally allowed to fall, and soft hands to bring him back to earth afterwards.

Angel didn't have to ask to know that none of that would be offered tonight.


End file.
